'Horace is a bore,' said Lesbia. 'I hate a poet who is always harping upon change and death.'
The carriage, which was to take the travellers to Windermere Station, was announced at this moment, and Lesbia and her grandmother gave each other the farewell embrace.
'You like Lady Kirkbank, I hope?' said Lady Maulevrier, as they went towards the hall, where that lady was waiting for them, with Lady Mary and Fräulein Müller in attendance upon her.
'She seems very kind, but I should like her better if she did not paint—or if she painted better.'
'My dear child I'm afraid it is the fashion of the day, just as it was in Pope's time, and we ought to think nothing about it.'
'Well, I suppose I shall get hardened in time.'
'My dearest Lesbia,' shrieked Lady Kirkbank from below, 'remember we have to catch a train.'
Lesbia hurried downstairs, followed by Lady Maulevrier, who had to bid her friend adieu. The luggage had been sent on in a cart, Lesbia's trunks and dress baskets forming no small item. She was so well furnished with pretty gowns of all kinds that there had been no difficulty in getting her ready for this sudden visit. Her maid was on the box beside the coachman. Lady Kirkbank's attendant, a Frenchwoman of five-and-thirty, who looked as if she had graduated at Mabille, was to occupy the back seat of the landau.
Lady Mary looked after her sister longingly, as the carriage drove down the hill. She was going into a new world, to see all kinds of people—clever people—distinguished people—musical, artistic, political people—hunting and shooting people—while Mary was to stay at home all the winter among the old familiar faces. Dearly as she loved these hills and vales her heart sank a little at the thought of those long lonely months, days and evenings that would be all alike, and which must be spent without sympathetic companionship. And there would be dreary days on which the weather would keep her a prisoner in her luxurious gaol, when the mountains, and the rugged paths beside the mountain streams, would be inaccessible, when she would be restricted to Fräulein's phlegmatic society, that lady being stout and lazy, fond of her meals, and given to afternoon slumbers. Lesbia and Mary were not by any means sympathetic; yet, after all, blood is thicker than water; and Lesbia was intelligent, and could talk of the things Mary loved, which was better than total dumbness, even if she generally took an antagonistic view of them.
'I shall miss her dreadfully,' thought Mary, as she strolled listlessly in the gardens, where the leaves where falling and the flowers fading.